Chapter 4: Bullseyes and Battles
889 Words
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The sun blazed over Greenwich High’s massive sports complex, turning the turf into a shimmering field of heat. The entire school buzzed with whispers and anticipation. Word had spread: the new kid was trying out for football.
“Why?” Brian asked, standing in the locker room, lacing his cleats. “Who even is this guy?”
“He’s got guts,” Jeremy said. “Football isn’t a game you just join. Especially not here.”
Brian slammed his locker. “He’s not making the team.”
Jeremy raised a brow. “You worried?”
“No,” Brian said too fast. “I just don’t like cocky rookies.”
Outside, a crowd had already gathered. Even students who didn’t care about football came to watch. Not because they wanted to see Brian. But because they wanted to see him.
Zen.
He stood at the edge of the field, in black shorts and a plain shirt, stretching like it was any other day—not like the entire school was watching. His face, calm and unreadable, gave nothing away.
Coach Bradford blew the whistle. “Tryouts! Line drills. Let’s move!”
Zen moved like water. He wasn’t bulky like the other players, but fast—too fast. He pivoted through cones like he’d grown up on turf, weaving, dodging, sprinting like gravity meant less to him.
Brian tried not to care. Tried not to look impressed.
He was impressed.
“Let’s see how you handle contact,” Coach barked.
Brian stepped forward. “I’ll go.”
The team hooted. Everyone knew what that meant. If anyone could humble the new guy, it was Brian.
They crouched on the line—opposite ends.
Zen tilted his head slightly, just enough to say Ready?
Brian narrowed his eyes. Bring it.
The whistle blew.
They ran at each other like comets, shoulders low. But Zen wasn’t running through him—he dodged. At the last second, he spun, pivoted, and used Brian’s momentum against him.
Brian hit the ground.
Hard.
The team went silent.
Zen jogged back to the line, expression unchanged, like knocking the captain flat was just another drill.
Brian lay on the turf, blinking up at the sun, and for the first time in a long time—he felt the burn of humiliation.
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“Nice hit,” Jeremy said afterward, clapping Brian’s shoulder.
Brian shrugged it off. “It was luck.”
“He’s not even wearing gear and still outplayed you.”
“I slipped.”
Jeremy smirked. “Whatever helps you sleep tonight.”
Brian didn’t respond.
Because deep down, he knew it wasn’t luck.
Zen hadn’t just beat him.
He’d done it without even trying.
---
Later that week came archery class—an elective most athletes blew off. But Brian was good at it. Bullseyes came easy. Archery gave him something football didn’t: calm control.
Until now.
Zen was in this class, too.
Of course he was.
Brian arrived early, already in position. He drew back the bowstring, eyes on the target. Thunk. Dead center.
“Still got it,” Jeremy said.
Brian grinned. “Let’s see if our new golden boy can shoot a bow.”
Zen entered quietly. He didn’t even glance their way, just grabbed a bow and stepped to the line.
“Need help with the stance?” Brian called out.
Zen didn’t respond.
“Dude, at least say thank you when I’m offering pointers.”
Zen finally looked over. “Didn’t ask.”
Jeremy snorted.
Brian rolled his eyes. “Fine. Hope you don’t shoot yourself.”
Zen nocked an arrow.
Pulled.
Released.
Thunk.
Dead center.
“Beginner’s luck,” Brian muttered.
Zen shot again. Another bullseye.
And again.
And again.
Brian’s mouth tightened. He aimed for the target beside Zen’s and fired.
Bullseye.
Zen glanced sideways, calm as ever.
Challenge accepted.
What followed was a silent war of arrows—both hitting center after center. Tension thickened like static. The coach watched in awe. Students gathered, phones out.
Then Zen did something Brian hadn’t expected.
He stepped back.
Further.
Twice the normal distance.
“What’s he doing?” Jeremy whispered.
Zen drew his arrow. Let it fly.
It hit the center.
A perfect bullseye.
The crowd gasped.
Brian’s hands curled around his bow.
For the first time, he felt it.
That gnawing feeling.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Threat.
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After class, Coach Taylor stopped Zen at the exit. “You ever trained before?”
Zen shrugged. “My brothers taught me. Hunting trips.”
“Well, consider this an open invite to compete at the state level. We could use you.”
Zen nodded and walked off.
Brian stayed behind, jaw clenched.
“You good?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” Brian said. “I’m not.”
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Later that day, Brian paced in the locker room, and archery gloves tossed on the floor. His phone buzzed with tags: photos, clips, TikToks.
“New guy’s a beast.”
“Zen vs. Brian: Who’s the real MVP?”
“Can the prince keep his crown?”
He turned off his phone and stared at his reflection.
For the first time, he felt small in a world that always made him feel ten feet tall.
Zen wasn’t just good.
He was brilliant.
And now?
He was everywhere.
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- Writer
